The Gizzard Song

The Gizzard Song
The opener was beastly hot. We got fleeting glimpses of a few birds and tossed up a few shots that were more prayer guided than aimed. I personally owe the County for some stumpage because I don’t think those popple are going to grow very well without tops. The heat required resting the dogs more often than usual.
So we are sitting at our favorite Up North Marinette County watering hole, the Nimrod and two ladies are sitting next to my longtime hunting partner, The Judge. They are looking at the menu and interested in some carry out. The Judge, always helpful, suggests the gizzards. The ladies tell him they don’t like gizzards. He says don’t make me sing you the Gizzard Song. They tell him ‘OK Sing us the gizzard song.’
Then he looks at me with this, I maybe had one too many shorties out of that last bucket look, help me Scooter. Like I’m supposed to, off the cuff, whip out a pitch pipe and write and perform this gizzard song. Ok, I saved his life once but writing a song takes a little more thought. I think he has come to expect a little much out of me. Here is the Gizzard song:

Gizzards Gizzards, those chewy tasty hunks of gut
Gizzards Gizzards, better than those fried sheep's nuts
Put em in a crock pot
Cook em all day
Sautéed with onions
All your Guests will say
Gizzards Gizzards, those chewy tasty hunks of gut
Gizzards Gizzards, better than those fried sheep's nuts
Best part of a chicken
Some will say
You can get them at the Rod
On Sunday
Gizzards Gizzards, those chewy tasty hunks of gut
Gizzards Gizzards, better than those fried sheep's nuts

I think I spoil the Boy.